


Mirror Bright

by PinkPenguinParade



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel and Demon True Forms (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I'm just making things up rn, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Metaphysics, angel nerdery, because of course it is, consensual smiting, does this count as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPenguinParade/pseuds/PinkPenguinParade
Summary: "I can't, I can't stay here. Not if you're meeting them here, it'll go worse for you if I'm here.They'll be able to tell."He could feel the demons now, on the street outside. Five, maybe six of them - certainly enough that he wouldn't want to meet at them anywhere but his home territory. "Get to the back," he told Crowley."Didn't you hear me? That's not far enough, they'll be able to tell if I'm here." The yellow eyes were blown to the edges, wild. "I have to get out of here--"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to LastSaskatchewanPirate and GeiaStGermaine (whose name I will get properly correct someday, I swear) for bending their ears and story help, and grand thanks to Redundant Angel for a beta that only isn't last-minute because I cannot hit self-imposed deadlines at all. Any remaining errors are mine, not theirs!
> 
> Part 2 will be posted whenever I manage final editing on it. Y'all are awesome and my brain goes to weird places apparently.

_"Angel!"_

The shout was nearly superfluous--the demon's sense of panic had been palpable from well down the street. Aziraphale was already moving towards the shop door when it slammed open and Crowley dashed in. 

"Crowley! What on Earth?"

"Demons!" Crowley gasped, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. "Outside--I think they were already on their way here but they're definitely coming here now. We should go. Right now."

"I'm not going to leave if demons are on their way here, my dear. This is the strongest place to meet them!" He had so much of his power sunk into the shop--wards in the foundation and walls, bindings over the door and windows, and that wasn't even counting the results of daily miracle use seeping into the fabric of the building. From the grand workings used to shore up the structural integrity and keep everything ship-shape to the tiny ones he used to keep his tea and bathwater warm, the shop was nearly a fortress.

"But I can't _help_ you here, angel," Crowley said. "I can't fix it. There's too much of you here, I won't be able to reach my full power." He pushed himself upright, flipping the lock behind him, and Aziraphale only then realized that he'd been injured--he was favoring one leg, and the shoulder of his jacket was torn and bloodied.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale lunged forward to catch his staggering demon.

"I can't, I can't stay here. Not if you're meeting them here, it'll go worse for you if I'm here. _They'll be able to tell."_

He could feel the demons now, on the street outside. Five, maybe six of them - certainly enough that he wouldn't want to meet at them anywhere but his home territory. "Get to the back," he told Crowley.

"Didn't you hear me? That's not far enough, they'll be able to tell if I'm here." The yellow eyes were blown to the edges, wild. "I have to get out of here--"

Someone knocked on the door.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said. He'd had a thought, an idea, but he wasn't at all sure if it would work. "... do you trust me?" If it did work it would be tricky, and if it didn't, well... if it didn't work they might both end their lives here. 

He decided not to tell Crowley that part.

"What kind of a question is that?"

"Oh, good," he said distantly. Well over half his attention had already moved to making this work. "I need you to close your eyes and hold very still. This probably won't be pleasant."

"What are you on about, there's no time--"

"Oh, and it may be difficult, but do try not to make a sound."

"Angel, what the devil are you--"

Aziraphale _unfolded_ and stretched himself. He forgot, sometimes, what it felt like to do this. He spent so much time in his old comfortable human corporation but he was, after all, a being of infinite light. Certain things were much easier when he could be wings and eyes and wheels upon wheels.

(That wasn't, of course, what he _was._ But it was as close as human language and understanding could get during the very few glimpses humans had ever gotten of him or any other angels. And then those humans told _other_ humans, who wrote it down for _more_ humans, and now he nearly thought of himself that way.)

For a moment, a fraction of a second, the bookshop was full of light such as few beings on Earth had ever known. Crowley had just enough time to yelp in surprise.

And then it was over. Where there had briefly been light too bright to see, now a small, fussy, old-fashioned middle-aged bookseller tugged his waistcoat into place just as the knocking on the door turned into outright pounding.

Aziraphale shifted in place, trying to find his center. He hadn't really had time to hide Crowley _and_ set for siege mode, and the door wouldn't hold forever against demonic pounding unless he did... but leaving them out on the street was also less than ideal; who knew what mischief they'd get up to against the people of Soho?

No, by far the best option was to do this on _his_ terms. There were only a scant few years left until the end of the world, and he had to protect Crowley. 

And himself, he supposed.

He gestured so that the door flew open, demons spilling in and caught off guard.

Another gesture closed the door behind them and locked it. Now he could set the store to let no one through, and his guardianship would remain in place. "May I help you?" he inquired frostily, then added, "...Gentlemen?" as an afterthought.

"Oi, angel," one of them said, scrambling to his feet. "We seen you, sniffing around. Came to tell you to leave orf. You'll get your chance with all the other pigeons, when the Master's plans are complete."

"But then..." one of the others said warningly.

"Yeah. But then we saw Crowley slinking around. And we fort, what's he doing so close to the angel? We got some questions, yeh?"

"And what questions would those be?" Aziraphale asked, trying to ignore the dark burning within him. The discomfort was certainly distracting, but he called on the memory of a Persian princess he'd once known, and poured every bit of her haughty disdain into his posture and voice, projecting all he could of _I am an angel of the Lord and soldier of Heaven, and **you are wasting my time.**_

It was working, too, at least a little bit--two of the six were visibly anxious.

"Questions like why would Crowley be headed here, of all London? We only wanted a little chat, why wouldn't he want a little chat with us, his old mates?"

"Oh, excellent question. You're so very polite, why wouldn't anyone want to chat?"

Ah, so two of them were immune to sarcasm, as well. The other four were somewhat incensed, so he continued on quickly, "I'm afraid that Crowley and I know each other of old, gentlemen. If it was you that drove him to me in such a state of destruction, then it appears I owe you my thanks. I haven't had such an easy time smiting him in, oh, millennia now."

"You wot?" said the demon who had been doing most of the talking up to now. Aziraphale decided to call him Fred. "You smote him?" Fred said.

"Mmmm. Yes." He fought the urge to pick his teeth. It was emphatically not the time to lean into his amdram instincts, he reminded himself. "Right about where you're standing."

"Oh, come off it," Fred said. But he was the only one who didn't look at the floor beneath them. 

One point me, thought Aziraphale. "Check for yourself," he said, waving vaguely with as much disinterest as he could manage. "Couldn't have got that far in that amount of time, could he? Can't you sense him anywhere?"

Two of them tracked his hand with widening eyes, and Aziraphale followed their gaze--forced himself to stay still when he realized that a carmine smear of Crowley's blood stood out on his pale palm. 

He carefully refocused on the demons as one after the other reluctantly felt out into the world. Here was where his gamble could stand or fail--if he was wrong, if he was _wrong_ about this, well, it could go very very badly.

He wished briefly for his old flaming sword, lost at the beginning of the world. There was a brolly within reach, though, and he wasn't above grabbing it and setting it alight in a pinch.

**~*~**

Crowley yelped as light flooded through his closed eyelids. He took a breath to shout, to ask Aziraphale what he thought he was doing--

And the world went away.

Light, light--there was nothing but light, heat and Grace, burning through him, everywhere, everywhere--

He'd hidden right sharpish when God was in the Garden, because angels were one thing but trying to bluff the Almighty was something else entirely. And Lucifer's energy was stronger, yes, but not a candle this to this brightness. He was only just realizing how much of himself Aziraphale normally kept hidden when he was around.

They weren't at a stage where ‘thank you’s were safe, but as he writhed in the light--as it stabbed through him, trying to force burning light and love into that empty void inside him--he resolved that if he survived this he owed the angel _so much chocolate._

(He'd got used to it, that void. Some days he barely felt it; some days it gnawed at him from behind his breastbone, from a deep point in his soul that he couldn't quite reach. But it was always there.)

Now, though… he tried to be still, he really did. He tried to hold steady and trust; he remembered Aziraphale asking him to be quiet so he choked back the wail that wanted to fly from his mouth.

It was agonizing, being in the presence of that much grace. He wasn't at all sure he was going to survive it.

He couldn't honestly say he wanted it to stop, either.

**~*~**

Fred appeared to be thinking it over. He'd tilted his head and unfocused, searching, then snapped his eyes open and straightened up. "I don't feel him! What did you do!?"

Those years in panto really weren't doing well by Aziraphale. _I ate him,_ he thought, slightly hysterically, and yet again had to fight the urge to pick his teeth. "He charged in here without so much as knocking. So I smote him," he said instead.

"There's an awful lot of Holy energy around," said another one. She did not look happy about it.

Aziraphale tried his best to look Heavenly, serene, and ready to smite. He also willed himself not to squirm, but it was becoming much more difficult.

Based on the looks on their faces, the rest of the demons had also started to do the math--Crowley + Angel + Holy Power = No Crowley.

He decided to chance giving it a little push--he really needed them out of the shop, very soon and preferably without bloodshed. "Now," he said, "I believe you said you had a message for me?"

"Yeah, we're to tell you AAUGH! WHAT THE 'EAVEN YOU DOING THAT FOR??" Fred cringed away from the suddenly blinding light, all the rest doing the same.

 **"I stand ready to receive your message,"** Aziraphale said, voice coming from nowhere and everywhere. He'd closed his human eyes in favor of opening one of his celestial ones. It floated above his head, bathing the shop in Holy Light.

"Auugh! Bugger! I'm gonna be seeing this for days!" one of them cried out, barely coherent among the other shouts.

 **"If you do not have a message, l believe you know where the door is,"** Aziraphale said after a moment. He waved a hand and the shop door unlocked itself. **"Good day, gentledemons."**

They cleared off quickly, at that--Fred made an attempt to be tough and start a threat, but he narrowed his focus on the demon and finally Fred took himself off after the others, smoking more than a little bit as he spilled into the London rain. 

Aziraphale locked up again behind them, gave it a fifteen-count, and then snapped the blackout shades down over all the windows, set the shop into siege mode. He put away his Eye, squeezed his eyes shut, and allowed himself to unfold again.

Crowley tumbled to the floor, arms over his eyes and a muffled litany of "Shit shit shit bollocks shitty bollocks _fuck!"_ falling from his lips.

Aziraphale snapped back into human form with some relief and immediately collapsed to the floor beside his friend. He sat panting for a moment and then finally said simply, "Indeed."

"Angel," Crowley said carefully and tightly, "I really need you to warn me beforehand if you're ever planning to do that again."

"I wasn't planning to do it this time, dear boy. It was merely the best idea I had at the moment."

"I didn't even know you could _do_ that!"

"Neither did I. Such interesting things we're learning today."

Crowley lifted an arm from his eyes so that Aziraphale could see the full measure of the glare he was being given. "What if it hadn't worked?"

"But it did work. I don't think it would have with my lot, mind. They'd have felt your energy. But I thought--I hoped--that the demons chasing you would be sufficiently blinded by holiness not to notice you."

"Hell of a gamble, angel. How did it go?" He moved his arm to look around more completely. "I don't see body parts anywhere..."

"Oh, I don't think they were the brightest of your lot," Aziraphale said. "They knew you had come in here, but as they couldn't actually track you I was able to convince them that I had... Well, that I smote you."

"And what if you hadn't been able to convince him?? What if they decided to fight?"

"What, here? Oh, I should think I’d have been able to handle that. If it came to it, I'm fairly certain I could have arranged at least a banishing. But Crowley... we've only a few years until Warlock turns eleven. I shouldn't like to risk kicking off hostilities early."

" _They_ were going to!"

"Yes, my dear, but I am not them. I don't like them, and I am not eager for Armageddon. Best for all concerned if this quietly goes away, I think."

"Rrrgh. Yeah, probably." Crowley slumped back onto the floor for a moment, then finally pushed himself upright. "All right, I'm going to have to explain some things, so... Let's get on with it."

Aziraphale blinked, watching him for any clue. When no greater explanation was forthcoming, he said, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I have to report in, so I need you to smite me," Crowley said, as though it was the most logical thing in the world.

Aziraphale blinked again. "I'm sorry, _what!?"_

"You convinced them that you smote me," Crowley said patiently. "I have a job up here, if I saunter back to it without any sign that I was actually smote, they're going to know something's up. Something convincing... You can aim for a burn across the ribs, right?"

"Absolutely not!"

"No, you're right. Too much important stuff under the ribs, and the last thing I want is to get actually discorporated. Shoulder? Nah, bastards already nailed me in the shoulder, I don't want to--hang on, what happened to my shoulder?!" He peered under his coat while Aziraphale watched stupefied. "Did you heal me?"

"Crowley, I am not smiting you!"

"You did, didn't you? You healed me!"

"I am an angel," Aziraphale said firmly. "I did try to shield you, but you were in contact with a great deal of my energy. I certainly wouldn't have _kept_ it from healing you."

"No, it's great. Shoulder's fine. You already healed me up, so if you lay it right over where they caught me before, they'll never even notice that it was healed."

"Smiting is not a precision science!"

"Look, angel. I trust you. I do. I know you can make this work. I show up back in Hell talking about how I squeaked out a narrow escape over an angel, that Aziraphale, he's a tough one. I take a day in Hellfire to heal up, and we're both back at the Dowlings' by Monday. It's perfect!"

"Except for the part where I have to smite you!" He closed his eyes briefly, trying to marshal his argument and figure out how this had got so out of hand so quickly.

There was warmth and pressure on his shoulder suddenly, and he opened his eyes again to see that Crowley had laid a hand there. "Aziraphale. I know this is hard, and we both just went through a... we just both went through something. But if I show up Downstairs without a mark, the jig is up. I know you can do this. I trust you."

They didn't touch, they didn't. It was one of those rules they'd never had to speak, the understanding that too much direct contact could be read by either of their sides like cat hair on a coat.

Crowley's hand on his shoulder was therefore quite intense, in an entirely different way than actually holding the demon within his being had been.

"You're, you're _sure_ this is the only way?"

"Only? Maybe not. But unless you have a better idea, one single better idea, the clock is ticking. The longer it takes for me to show up downstairs, the worse shape I need to be in when I get there."

"Oh. Oh!" Aziraphale said. He hadn't properly thought of the time aspect, but yes, Crowley was correct about that too.

"Right," Crowley said. He grabbed Aziraphale's hand and brought it to the shoulder of his jacket where there were already rips and scorch marks. "Hit me."

"Crowley, I can't--!"

"Sure you can, angel. Make it convincing." Crowley grinned. "Need me to insult Oscar? I have some choice thoughts there--"

“Crowley,” Aziraphale warned.

"--and I could write a book about the different formats and why pocket paperbacks are the intrinsically superior format--"

"Crowley, I am warning you, my dear, this is not a good idea--"

"While I'm at it, I really always thought that Juliet would've done way better with Mercutio, because Romeo was a wanker and not anywhere near good enough for her AHH FUCKER!" Crowley said, falling backwards and clutching his shoulder as Aziraphale zapped him. "Well done, gold star, sonabitch _bastard_ that hurts!"

"Crowley!"Aziraphale exclaimed. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry, I was aiming for smaller--"

Crowley writhed on the ground spouting minor obscenities for another moment before getting hold of himself and sitting up. "No," he said, "it's perfect. Well--ow _fuck--_ well done you, right on top of where they got me before."

"Oh, no! I'm sorry, I--" he really hadn't meant to do more than a tiny zap. 

"Did it exactly right, angel. There's enough holy energy there now, nobody will be able to tell the bit from before was healed." He slowly got to his feet, favoring the injured shoulder. "I'm off," he said wearily. "If I don't show back up downstairs soon, there will be more questions." 

"That you don't have answers to?"

"That I will have to sodding _make up_ answers to, and sometimes questions get asked in a real pointed way, if you get me. I'm not sure I have answers in me right now. Best to keep it simple, yeah? You smote me, I ran, dove for cover and hid until I could get back downstairs." He stretched his arm and winced, breath hissing in through his teeth. "Remind me never to get on the bad side of you for real, Angel."

"You were being extremely vexing."

"Aw, c'mon, you know I didn't _ow_ mean it about the paperbacks."

"That's better," Aziraphale said, straightening his waistcoat.

"Everybody knows e-readers are really the superior format," Crowley said, and dashed out the door while Aziraphale was still spluttering.

**~*~**

Aziraphale fretted for the rest of the weekend, but appeared bright and early at the Dowling's Monday morning in his Brother Francis disguise. It had been several years now, and he really was beginning to rethink whether the teeth had been such a good idea, but he wasn't about to let Crowley know that.

He made sure to be working on the east hedges, the ones that afforded a good view of the drive. So he was well positioned to see Nanny Ashtoreth arrive, tidy and stern and looking none the worse for wear.

She dipped her head towards him, and he was fairly certain there was a wink involved, but it was bright and there was too much reflection off her sunglasses to be sure.

So instead he finished with the hedges and collected the small bucket and spade and child-size gloves. Warlock would be wanting to come to the garden after lessons.

**~*~**

2020

Crowley was slouching around the bookshop playing games on his mobile. He wasn't quite ready to call it home, any more than Aziraphale had entirely embraced the minimalism of his flat. Home was the cottage, now, where they occasionally argued about style but never really fought--although ultimately they agreed that at this point home was, in essence, wherever the other one happened to be.

Aziraphale was closing up. They had come into the city for one of his rare open days - - he'd never explained exactly how he chose them, just that he knew when he'd be needed - - but whatever it was he was needed for had apparently been accomplished, and now the angel was making a show of sweeping up as the last few humans gathered themselves to leave.

Crowley was only half watching, keeping an eye on his angel while his thumbs moved rapidly over the screen, but he noticed when the quiet human bustle of sweeping stilled into something that set his senses on edge. "Angel?"

Movement again, deliberate resumption of that so-human sweeping motion. "Just woolgathering."

"Bollocks," Crowley said. "What's wrong?"

"Oh." Aziraphale slowed in his sweeping, and finally just set the broom aside. "I... Do you know, I'm not sure I ever noticed it left a mark?"

"Not enlightening," Crowley said. "What left a mark?"

"Where I, um... where I smote you."

"What are you ta--" he started, and then remembered. The terror, the panic to get here and warn his angel, the pain of being smitten and... and……

He got up and walked over, following Aziraphale's gaze to a small mark on the floor. Barely a scorch, almost invisible against more than 200 years of regular Soho traffic. He might not have noticed it at all if he were only looking with his mortal eyes.

It was there though, when he extended his senses. A general flavor of holy fire, a tinge of his own darkness - - he must have bled on the floor, just a drop or two.

"I still can't believe I hurt you," Aziraphale said in a small voice.

"You were beautiful," Crowley said.

Aziraphale said nothing.

"Oi," Crowley said again. "Look at me, would you?" He tugged a bit on the angel’s shoulder, pulling him around so they stood face to face.

"You were magnificent," Crowley said. "You are the smartest person I know. I couldn't have gotten us out of that that way, but you did. You hid me and you scared them off and you were magnificent."

"I hurt you," Aziraphale said again.

"We're hereditary enemies," Crowley said with a crooked grin. "If we start tallying up who hurt who we’ll be here for another thousand years. You did exactly what I asked you to, exactly what I needed from you. You saved me and you saved our cover and you saved the world." 

"Oh, now you're exaggerating. I didn't save the world."

"We had a small assistance role. Which we might not have had, if we either one had been pulled off Warlock duty. Wrong boy, yes, but we found the right one when it counted. _You_ found the right one when it counted."

Aziraphale had started, slowly, to relax, letting tension bleed out of his shoulders. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so."

"I thought--" The angel slumped forward, his head on Crowley's shoulder. "You must never ask me to do anything like that again, though. Not ever."

"... Ah," Crowley said.

"Crowley?" The word was muffled, barely intelligible against his shoulder. "You're not going to ask me to do anything like that ever again, right?"

"I won't ask you to smite me again, I promise. Not unless we somehow end up in a similar situation."

"I can hardly imagine that happening now," Aziraphale said.

"But…"

"But what?" There was a warning note in his voice, a solid _don't make me do that again_ undercurrent.

"The bit that's-- not the fighting, but the bit before. Where you hid me." _Where you held me._ "I didn't know you could do that."

"My dear, neither did I. But then I didn't realize I could possess someone until faced with the need, either."

"Yeah, so. I... I've maybe thought about that a few times since then."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Of course, you seemed to be quite distressed! I would never think of doi--"

"I want to do it again," Crowley blurted.

"You want to... You what?"

"I want to, to try it again." He couldn't tell, as still as the angel was he couldn't tell what this reaction meant and he tripped on desperately, "If you're up for it, only if you're up for it."

Aziraphale was watching him now in something between wonder and concern. "But my dear, I _hurt_ you."

He'd thought about this--he'd thought about this so much. And he'd never managed to really put into words how he'd felt about it - surprised at the time, of course, totally off balance and it had hurt, oh yes, it had hurt. But he'd also felt... cared for, he supposed; surrounded by that angelic love.

He was a shit demon, and was beginning to think he always has been. While yes, it had hurt, it had also touched into the deepest darkest parts of him. And it had not left him thinking that he had been found wanting.

"Dearest?"

He'd been quiet too long, and could see Aziraphale working to maintain balance and patience and not let his mind go spiralling off into worst cases.

"It, it wasn't the most comfortable thing? But I wasn't ready for it either. And it felt... It felt…"

Aziraphale brushed blunt, gentle fingers across his cheek. "How did it feel?"

He dropped his eyes closed, not sure he was ready for the sight of his angel's face. "Loved," he managed. "I felt loved."

"You are loved, my darling boy. Do I... do I not make you feel loved?"

"You do," he said, and made himself look. Aziraphale was radiating concern at him and, yes, love as well. "You always do."

"But you, you want me to... hurt you?"

"I don't want you to hurt me," he said, and tried not to think about the way the sudden relief on Aziraphale's face made him feel. "I want you to hold me. And... I'm prepared for the idea that it may hurt."

"You've thought about this, then." Aziraphale gathered him closer, if such a thing were possible while they wore their human corporations.

"Maybe a few… thousand times," Crowley said into the clean scent of his angel's neck.

"Darling, why did you never say anything?"

"I just did!"

"I mean before now, of course, you silly goose of a snake." Aziraphale sounded unbearably fond and Crowley couldn't help but smile. "I find myself taken quite off guard. You will give me a moment to consider, won't you?"

"S'not important," Crowley mumbled. "Only just--"

"Tosh and nonsense. You've made a request. It is not unreasonable just because I wasn’t expecting it." 

Crowley found himself squeezed tightly, then released as Aziraphale pulled back to look at him. 

"You must understand, my love, I've spent all this time thinking it was awful for you. You seemed quite discombobulated when we separated, and then I, I had to smite you directly after."

"It was only a little smiting."

"Any is too much, if it's you."

“I didn’t mind. I mean, it hurt, but I asked you to. It was just enough--you should have seen their faces when I limped into Hell.” He laughed a little, in memory--they’d been in the middle of reporting his demise when he’d stumbled in, deeply disheveled and still smoking.

“I’ve spent the last few years telling myself I could never ever do that again, do you see? The smiting, and the enfolding, and the whole thing are wrapped up together for me. It never occurred to me that you might see them separately--might _feel_ about them separately. It may take me a bit.” Aziraphale gave him a smile that was soft and hopelessly fond, a smile he could throw himself at and just sink into like it was the finest down featherbed.

“Doesn’t have to be now. Doesn’t have to be ever, if you’re not okay with it,” he said. 

“We should start here, though.” And suddenly Crowley was surrounded by strong arms, smelling of old clean linen and angel-sunshine and something that was indefinably, unmistakably _Aziraphale._ “I will hold you, love.”

This was… this was good, he thought. This was very very good. He’d gone through all six thousand years and the end of the world for this, and it was good. Warm arms around him, Aziraphale’s chest to his chest, and that expanding feeling of _love_ that wrapped him in cotton. This was good. 

He relaxed into it, let himself bury his face in candyfloss curls, and knew that that yawning pit behind his breast was still there. This human touch quieted it, yes, but couldn’t fill it. 

“How are you doing, dearest?” The rumble of Aziraphale’s voice was right at him and still a little distant, and he realized he’d been floating.

“Hmm?”

“You’re thinking things again, love. I can hear you thinking.”

“I’d still like… how do you feel?” Something occurred to him, suddenly. “Actually, how did you feel then? The folding, not the smiting, I mean. I know what it was like for me, but we never talked about--”

“Oh, tosh. Momentary discomfort, really. I’m not… we’re not really built to carry things within us like that, much less someone who is even nominally the adversary. But mostly I was trying not to be distracted, love, because I needed my wits about me and yet I feared for your safety and I could, I could _feel_ you in a way I generally cannot.”

“So… I’m not asking you for something that hurt _you?”_

“It was difficult. But not painful, no.” 

Crowley let all his breath whoof out at once and enjoyed the way it sent Aziraphale’s curls waving. “Whew. Thank… well. Thank someone, anyway.”

“It was my stupid idea in the first place, my dear. I didn’t like that it should hurt you, when I got off so lightly.”

“I promise... If you’re willing to try it again, whenever, I promise I will tell you if it’s too much.”

“I expect nothing less from you, of course.” 

His ribs were seized in a brief, hard squeeze, just as he liked, and then Aziraphale released him. “Right now, though, I should like to head home, I think. It’s been quite a day and I cannot concentrate now that I can feel--” he waved at the mark on the floor. “And if we are to try anything like that again, I should prefer not to be in the middle of Soho when we do. We had no real choice last time, but as I recall there are sometimes side effects from too much concentrated grace.”

“What, you think your people can’t handle a little grace?”

“I will happily hand them a little love, my dear, but I prefer to keep the prophetic dreams to a minimum.” 

“Ooh, yeah, that could bring a bit of trouble.”

“Indeed.” He picked up the discarded broom and took it back to its closet, then looked around the shop in a quick inspection. “Shall we, then? And I believe if we use your cellular device to order a quick dinner, we could pick it up on the way back home?”

“Just call it a mobile, angel. Takeout is fine, just pick where you want.”

**~*~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even so, he wasn’t entirely prepared when Aziraphale came to him in their garden at one point and said, “I believe the traditional opening is, ‘Be Not Afraid’.”
> 
> “Hmm?” Crowley looked up from the bulbs he was scolding (and planting, but mostly scolding) and saw his angel standing there, human-blue eyes fixed on him, one of his Eyes manifested and, thankfully, still closed. “You… now?”

It was a quiet few days after that, stretching into a week without more than minor discussion of the incident. Crowley’s hopes, initially high, faded a bit as the time moved on, and he started to resign himself to the idea that Aziraphale would never be comfortable trying it again. 

Which was fine, really it was. He honestly, truly didn’t want to ask his angel to do anything that might cause undue distress. 

He just also felt slightly empty, as though baring that part of his soul (twice now, first being so thoroughly _seen,_ and then forcing himself to openly state what he wanted) had been, well, for nothing. 

So he wasn’t entirely prepared when Aziraphale came to him in their garden at one point and said, “I believe the traditional opening is, ‘Be Not Afraid’.”

“Hmm?” Crowley looked up from the bulbs he was scolding (and planting, but mostly scolding) and saw his angel standing there, human-blue eyes fixed on him, and one of his Eyes manifested and, thankfully, still closed. “You… now?”

“If you’re amenable, yes. I didn’t want to spring it on you without warning, but… if we go slowly, and you are quite, quite certain to tell me immediately if you need or want to stop, I think I’m willing to try.”

“Your idea of going slowly is just to straight-up Manifest?” He set the spade down, dusted dirt off his fingers against the hems of his jeans. 

The Eye slowly faded without opening, Aziraphale’s presence and gaze dimming until he could yet again be taken as a slightly fussy human bookseller. “Think of it as a declaration of intent, my dear. I don’t Manifest for just anyone, and it did save quite a bit of talking around things.”

“I… Part of me wants to do this right here in the garden, but the plants might start getting ideas. We could take it inside, maybe?”

“Of course, love! Whatever will make you comfortable.”

“Inside, then,” Crowley said with a nod, and stepped into the cottage. He took off his glasses as he came in and dropped them by the door. A brief gesture had his hands and jeans dirt-free before he made it to the bedroom, where he sank to his knees. 

A small smile played around Aziraphale’s lips as he followed. “On your knees, really?” 

“I fell last time, remember? I’d like to not do that again.”

“Ah. Probably wise, then.”

“What were you thinking?”

“My dear, I’m about to Manifest for you. I’m afraid seeing you kneeling for me was threatening to go straight to my head.” 

“We should really talk sometime about this blasphemy kink you’ve picked up.” 

"Oh, certainly. I am definitely the only person in this relationship who has acquired issues around blasphemy. Are you sitting comfortably?"

Crowley swallowed. He was, and he was sure of himself. But he also remembered--the feeling of being loved but also the smiting, being surrounded by his angel but also being stabbed through by that light -

_Don't focus on that. Focus on the love._

He took a deep breath, rested his hands on his knees. Tipped his head back to look up at his angel. "Yeah," he said. 

Aziraphale smiled softly down at him, reached out with one hand to brush fingertips along his cheek. And then one Eye slowly pulled into view, followed by others.

The room was getting warmer, although perhaps that was just Crowley. The fingertips on his cheek started to tingle, and he swallowed again.

One eye opened, inundating Crowley with blinding radiance. It washed over him, and he clenched his jaw and set himself to endure. Aziraphale had not been kidding about going slowly.

"How are you doing, my dear?"

“Peachy keen.” 

There was a distinctly unangelic snort. “And how are you really?”

He considered a moment. "Burns a little," he said, and Aziraphale's mouth quirked as though he knew how much he was underplaying it. "But I'm good."

"I am ever so glad to hear it." Aziraphale pulled himself open wider. More Eyes opened one by one, radiance pouring over him with each, and it was, it was _almost_ right. The best kind of hurt, washing through him.

**”And now?”**

His angel was blurring, out of focus--losing control of the boundaries of his corporation. That kind fond humor was less a facial expression now and more a sensation playing around him.

Crowley considered again. He felt loved, yes, but it wasn’t quite what he remembered.

His body was beginning to shake, though, and he worked to quiet it--tried to relax into the burn, let go of the tension. Forced himself to stop holding on so tightly, and let himself just open to this.

**”Oh. Oh, _Crowley!”_**

Something moved towards him, through him. Stroked along and into the deepest parts of him, and it burned and it healed and it crept into that hollow place within him--

**”I don't think I ever knew,”** Aziraphale said. 

He seemed to be in several pieces now, all reaching for this heat and light and stolen Grace from wildly different angles. He made a valiant attempt to pull himself together. “Knew... what?”

**”Oh, my love. How beautiful you are.”**

He was sure he made a sound, then- - he could hear it, or maybe feel it. He wasn’t sure when his mortal eyes stopped feeding him information, but everything was bright, too bright, too strong--

A touch rang like steel along him. He couldn’t see himself now, couldn’t see Aziraphale, but he could _feel,_ oh God he felt. Grace poured into him, poured through him, forced and dribbled and flooded and he began to overflow--

“Nnngh. Angel... stop…” he managed. The torrent slowed; the light dimmed and he cried out after it, chasing grace as it withdrew and dwindled into darkness.

**~*~**

“...Crowley? Crowley, love, I would really like for you to somehow indicate that you’re with me still, darling.”

“Nnngh?” he said, and it sounded somehow familiar. “Ngl?”

“There you are, my dearest. I’m so very sorry, but you would keep encouraging me and I was quite distracted by the sight of you.”

“...hppn?”

“I believe we may have overestimated your tolerance just a bit. Perhaps we ought not do that again.”

Brightness, as his eyes flew open into a world he was in no way ready for. “Nnh! ‘M fine.”

“And when you can say that with appropriate vowel sounds, I may start to believe you.” He was cradled comfortably against a warm, loved body and oh, someone was petting his hair, that was nice. It was probably Aziraphale, but it could have been an entire Hungarian circus for all he cared just then. 

“I’m fine, angel,” he managed, annoyingly aware that he was overenunciating like he’d had too much wine (so much, so much better than wine, he thought).

“How do you feel, love? Actually feel. Do not tell me you feel ‘fine,’ either.”

He tried to take stock of himself--it was quite difficult with someone petting his hair and the world too bright and the distinct feeling that he was in more pieces than usual, and he kept trying to see past that before he realized that that was probably his answer. “How many pieces am I in?”

“Just the one, fortunately.”

“Dunnnt feel like it.”

The hair-petting turned into a hand on his cheek, warm and soft, and that was even better. “I was insufficiently afraid of this, I think. Oh, I knew it was a bad idea!”

“Dinnunt hurt, tho,” he lied. It had hurt, but it had felt better than hurt, too. “Totally worth it.”

“My dearest, while I must congratulate you on appropriate vowel sounds, I’m afraid if you can’t say that while standing up it’s a little hard to take you seriously.” 

“Hmm.” The world was slowly receding again, but he felt… good. “Think I’m in one piece again,” he said. “Just need a little kip.”

“Crowley. Crowley!”

He could feel, now, deep in his being, that wellspring that had so wrecked him, filling him. “Feel good, angel. Feel loved.”

“Oh, for heav-- Good grief, Crowley!”

“Lveyoutoo, ngel.”

**~*~**

“Are you back among the living, this time?”

Crowley woke in their bed, under covers and wings and wrapped around Aziraphale, toasty-warm and all-over-body sore. “...think so. How are you?”

“I’m not the one who asked how many pieces I was in, dear heart.” Oh, he sounded cross. That wasn’t a good sign. 

“Feel good, now. You’re warm.”

“Don’t think you’ll get around me by snuggling in, either. You scared the life out of me!”

“Did not, you’re still here,” he said, winding more tightly around his angel. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, then seemed to think better of whatever retort he was planning to make and sighed instead. “Life or no, you scared me. You told me you would say if it was too much, love.” There were undercurrents there-- _we've worked on this_ and even a touch of _I'm so proud of you for asking for what you want, but you must think of your own safety._

“Did. And you stopped, even--” he broke off and buried his face into clean linen, feeling his angel’s heartbeat through his cheek and nose. “Even though I wanted you to keep going,” he finished, muffled by cloth and blanket and sweet angel skin.

“Slowly, I said. Didn’t I say we should go slowly?”

“You also… did you say I was beautiful?”

Another sigh. “I did, yes. Quite distractingly so. I should have been paying more attention, when things got to be too much, but I could barely take my eyes off you.”

“‘M not pretty.” He reluctantly pulled his face away and started disengaging. “I mean, sure, I’m cute enough to be useful inspiring the occasional lust in humans, but that’s just for the job--”

“Crowley.” He found his face gently redirected to look at his angel, and those eyes met his, hopelessly fond. “You are very beautiful. You have been beautiful since the Beginning. I looked into your eyes on the Wall and they were beautiful; the breeze caught your hair and it was beautiful; you crept up behind me as a giant serpent and you were beautiful.” 

“‘M skinny and freckly,” he said, because Aziraphale still had hold of his face and there was nowhere to look away and nowhere to bury his head. 

“You’re exactly as skinny and freckly as you should be. Stop fishing for compliments,” Aziraphale said, and leaned in to kiss him on the nose. “And that’s not what I was talking about, anyway. I love your corporation, truly, every inch, but I’m used to you and the mere sight of you is no longer enough to make me forget basic safety precautions.”

“Hmm?” 

“When you asked how many pieces you were in… you weren’t that far off, love. When we… when we did this before, to save you… well, I’m quite sure you weren’t pulled so far past your body.”

“When we did this before,” he said slowly, “I was working very very hard not to be pulled past my body. It was definitely a danger.” He licked his lips briefly. “This time I wanted to be able to feel.”

“And, ah,” Aziraphale's hand started petting through his hair again. “And what did you feel?”

He swallowed. It was getting easier, being able to open himself up and say the words that Hell would have denied him, but it was far from effortless. “Loved,” he said finally. “I felt loved. I felt seen. I felt _you.”_

“I … I felt you, as well. In ways that truthfully I did not expect. And I cannot begin to tell you how lovely you are.”

“Pssht. Burned out building, me. Nothing much.”

“Piffle,” Aziraphale said mercilessly. “An old growth forest, perhaps. Deep inside. Scarred and darkened but full of life.”

“Rotten through and through,” Crowley said, but he could feel a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Nurturing and kind. A veritable greenhouse.”

“Ow. _Ow,_ angel, you wound me. What kind of a thing is that to say about a demon?”

Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him again, on the forehead this time. “A true one. I’m an angel, we can’t lie.”

“Oooh, what a lie! You’re one of those rubbish logic puzzles all by yourself. Angels can’t lie, but the angel says he’s lying, so he has to be telling the truth but if he’s telling the truth he must be lying but he can’t lie and suddenly the computer goes fffzzt and the Enterprise fucks off for next week’s puzzle.”

“...sometimes when you talk I’m incredibly lost. You know that, don’t you?”

“Star Trek, angel. I know you’ve seen it, I made you watch it with me sometimes.” 

Aziraphale’s expression was not particularly enlightened.

“I have been, and always shall be, your demon?”

“Oh, the series in space! With that one gentleman with the ears!”

“THAT’s the one, yeah. Someday I'm going to convince you to love telly.”

“I’m sure there’s a great deal of fine storytelling, dearest. But I must say, my books have no advertisements and hardly ever surprise me with a loud bit of music.” 

Crowley was taking a breath to respond that he could _arrange_ for a surprise music sting when Aziraphale went on. 

“And besides, I won’t allow you to change the subject on me, you wily thing. You _are_ beautiful, and I found myself quite entranced at the sight of you, losing hold of your human form.” Angelic fingers brushed down his cheek again. “I’ve never seen you like that, love. You slip a little into snake, sometimes. But the divinity of you…”

“Not divine, angel. Not for a long, long time.”

“Oh, but you are! Darling, you’re--oh, bother, this isn’t going to work, is it? There’s no way to make you see you the way I do.”

“Can’t think of one, no. Not really sure why you’d want to.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale squirmed out from under him, suddenly all fire and motion when all Crowley had wanted was a good post-nap bask. It had been, it had been _good_ , what they’d done earlier, even if it had thrown him for several loops. It had almost felt like being cradled completely in Grace.

It had almost felt like Heaven, back in the old days. Only better, because it wasn’t Heaven at all, it was just Aziraphale.

...Aziraphale, who was even now buzzing about the bedroom murmuring to himself and looking behind things in a way that would have been comical if Crowley hadn’t just lost his best basking angel to this. 

He wasn’t ready to deal with this, Crowley thought, and shoved his head under a pillow.

He was able to stay there for a long moment, ignoring the minor mutterings and then more pointedly ignoring the feel of a small series of miracles. 

He was not going to come out to look. 

There was more muttering, and some bustling as well.

He was making a point now. That he was not looking. The angel did not have anything he wanted, out there; he wanted his angel back _here._ Preferably warm and quiet and without all this talk about him being _beautiful_ or whatever. 

A slightly less minor miracle almost made him look. He pulled another pillow over his head, instead. 

His skin stung with that now-familiar feeling of Grace washing over him, and he sighed. Point-making was well and good, but if Manifesting was on the table again he’d be a fool to miss it. 

A stronger wave of grace made him groan--although it came out much more like a moan than he really wanted to admit to--and pull the pillows off his head. “What are you doing, angeOhhh!”

Aziraphale was Manifesting--only a little bit, just the one Eye, only a tiny bit open, heat and light spilling over him. His body tried to tense against it and relax into it all at once. 

“Look,” Aziraphale said, and his voice held only the barest tinges of the power he’d spoken with earlier, though his edges bled and shimmered as he held to only a minor level of Manifestation. 

He really was trying to control himself, Crowley thought, and looked. 

There was a mirror there--a new one. Whether conjured from raw firmament or stolen from somewhere else, it was now blessed and enchanted to an alarming degree. And then there was.... 

_Oh,_ Crowley thought again, catching sight of himself in that glass. He was sprawled in their bed, still not sure whether he was fighting against that Grace or against his own nature. But the more he looked, the more he saw his own form shimmer and waver, his own true nature rising to meet his angel’s. 

He wouldn’t have called it beautiful, this darkness. A susurration of scales, and the gold of his eyes shading into red. He started to turn away--

“No,” Aziraphale said, and let his Eye open a little wider. “I want you to look.”

“I know what I am, angel,” he protested, hoping not to see the scars.

“I’m not sure I believe that you do,” Aziraphale said, and suddenly his grace was tinged with laughter and so horribly affectionate that Crowley couldn’t help but reach for him. 

Reaching isn’t fighting, and running barefoot after Grace is the farthest thing from resistance. He stopped trying to hold onto his corporation in that moment, watching his angel intently, and so missed seeing the slow change he had started in that mirror. When Aziraphale waved back towards it, he followed the movement automatically, and his breath stopped in his chest. 

“I shouldn’t be able to see this.”

“It reflects what I see. How I see you.”

Crowley stood, stepping over to the not-quite-glass and reaching towards it. One of his few remaining eyes blinked open on his palm with a hiss, and he scolded it. “Quiet, you.”

In this odd mirror of Aziraphale’s eyes, he could see so much that he’d forgotten or thought lost. His halo, jagged and shattered, ringed his head with glints of fire and starlight. His wings flamed at the tips, lumpy with the scars he’d hidden, the dark knots of him pulled into this space they’d carved out for themselves. 

“I don’t think I could call this beautiful,” he said.

Aziraphale stepped toward him, shaking with the effort of keeping his Grace at this low, steady level. “I never asked you,” the angel said. “I never asked you, about your true form. About the scars and the Fall.”

“Always appreciated that.”

“I would have gone forever, not asking you. You know that, right? But now that I’ve seen you--oh, my love. I could never have dreamed how beautiful you are!” Aziraphale reached toward him, form wavering at the edges, his wings blinking in and out of reality. 

For a moment the image in the mirror was dizzyingly doubled, showing him two separate Crowleys before it solidified again on this, this _beast_ that he barely remembered being. 

Crowley’s first instinct--to reach toward his angel--ran right up against the desire to duck, to hide. To warn Aziraphale off, lest the angel get his fingers burned with something more than mere heat. And so Crowley stood, caught in that moment of indecision, while Aziraphale reached toward him.

The angel’s human hand cupped his face, thumb running along his cheekbone 

and

the tip of a pearl-white wing brushed along his feathers, soothing the knotted ache of the scars and brushing through the flames 

and 

a multitude of Eyes looked on him without opening, warming him with their caress

and

a wheel of fire appeared around that comfortable soft corporation, rending the air around them

and

the fire met his halo, scraping jagged starlight together with molten love

and

part of Aziraphale reached _through_ him, brushing the scars where he used to have eyes, running along the scales of him until he hissed with the sensation 

and

he reached back, _grasping_ as it burned his hands, his heart, clinging to everything his angel was

and

Aziraphale was everywhere, he was loved he was held he was cradled in Grace surrounded by light he was seen he was seen he was seen he was _loved_

………

……

...

He was nearly certain he was standing on his own two feet, although he felt far steadier than he should have. The hand on his cheek was warm, grounding. Crowley was horribly afraid he might have imagined those last few minutes.

He was equally horribly afraid he hadn’t.

“Angel?”

“Yes, love?”

Oh, he was definitely leaned against something, and it was something soft and solid and smelling of Aziraphale and he felt the rumble in his chest when the angel spoke. “I’m going to open my eyes in a moment. What am I going to see?”

“Well… me, mostly, I should think. I’m quite close to you.” 

“Is your halo still out?”

A laugh, soft and gentle. “I believe we’re both in our proper corporations, my dear.”

He opened his eyes. As was foretold, he mostly saw Aziraphale, those dear features quite close to him and smiling. A low pressure resolved itself into the angel’s arm around him, pressing into his lower back. “Hallo,” he said to his angel.

“Hello. I’m so sorry, I got carried away again.”

Crowley looked down at himself. “I think I’m the one who got carried away, really.”

“I haven’t carried you anywhere, this time. Do you think you can stand?”

“Was I standing before?”

“That… is something of a complex question, actually,” Aziraphale laughed. 

He tested his balance gingerly, relieved when it seemed that his legs would hold him up this time. “How did you magic that mirror?”

Aziraphale let him go, slowly enough to catch him if it turned out he wasn’t stable. “The eye of the soul cannot see itself, my dear. I merely enchanted the mirror to show you yourself as I see you. More or less.”

“Seemed pretty spot on.”

“I do hope so. I so wanted you to understand.”

Crowley laughed, ran a hand through his hair. “Not sure that worked, really. Not sure I understand anything.”

“You’re so lovely, though.”

“I did feel…” he trailed off, took a step back and dropped onto the bed. Words, it was always words with his angel, and he was trying but words were never his strong suit. He was good enough with them in a pinch, and okay, he could twist the truth til it screamed for mercy if he needed. But words were important to Aziraphale, and he tried to make them work. “I felt… like I wasn’t….”

Aziraphale gave him a moment to continue, then prodded gently when no continuation seemed to be coming. “Wasn’t what?”

“It felt like I almost wasn’t broken. For a minute there. Like the parts of me all matched, all fit.”

“Oh, excellent!” Crowley looked up to see Aziraphale beaming above him--literally beaming, his Eye had crept back in while they were talking. “I so hoped it would work!” 

He cleared his throat. “Oi, um,” he said, nodding at that point above Aziraphale’s head. “Not that that wasn’t fun, but three times in one day….”

“What? Oh!” The Eye was properly tucked away in an instant. “So sorry, dearest. Clearly I also need some rest.”

“I appreciate your stamina but I’m only demonic,” Crowley said with a grin. 

“Oh, hush. You know very well what I meant.”

“I do,” he conceded. “I also… I know you love me, I do.” They’d talked about that, too, after the end of the world, in detail and at length. His only excuse was six thousand years of denials and being told that he was unworthy, but he was working on it. “Didn’t expect _that_ , though.”

“What, the mirror?” The angel sat on the bed next to him, mattress dipping so that he leaned over on to a strong shoulder. “I didn’t quite expect the mirror myself. I was inventing madly at that point, I just couldn’t stand that you-- Well. Hmm. Just so. I couldn’t stand that you couldn't see yourself the way I saw you.”

“Not the mirror, no. I mean, yes, the mirror, I didn’t expect that either. But you… I expected a quick open, when we did this, like it was when you first hid me, and then you went and made it all… loving. I was just going to bask in you, like the sun, and you made it personal.”

Aziraphale’s arm was around him now, pulling him in with warmth and love. “Didn’t you want it to be personal?”

“More than anything,” he breathed.“More than anything,” he breathed. “But I didn’t expect it. And then you came along and totally just, just _scrambled_ me. Twice. Twice in one day!”

He felt more than heard the angel’s answering chuckle. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Angel!”

Aziraphale gave a pleased wiggle at having managed to scandalize a yelp out of him, then went on, “Sometimes even still, I manage to forget that you don't feel love this way. Not as a physical force.”

“Felt pretty forceful from here.”

“--And despite having scrambled you, as you say, I am nonetheless pleased to find that you seem to have suffered few ill effects.”

“Aside from being scrambled, of course.”

“And perhaps a wee bit sunburned.” Aziraphale gently tweaked his nose.

Curly automatically glanced at the mirror that hadn't existed earlier. His nose was indeed a little reddened, as were his cheekbones, and his freckles stood out with more prominence.

Past that, though, he was surrounded by what he could only describe as a pink glow, tinged with celestial blue. “Uh, angel?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I'm pink because... Why?

“Oh, I did say sorry-- _oh!”_ he said, following Crowley's gaze to the mirror. He sketched a rapid, complex symbol in the air, and the reflection faded to something more like he was used to seeing.

“What was that?” He couldn't stop himself asking, even though he was almost certain he knew the answer. He wasn't quite sure he was ready to deal with his angel’s love manifesting as a cartoon glow.

"I wanted you to be able to see yourself the way I see you."

Yeah, okay, he was a little sorry he asked. But only a little. "You see that all the time? Never tell me you see that all the time."

"Well not _all_ the time," Aziraphale admitted, color rising to his cheeks. "What we just did--the, erm, scrambling. It's really very intimate isn't it?"

Crowley stared at his angel for a long moment, then just couldn't help himself. He started to laugh, and then he found he couldn't stop, eventually falling back onto the bed and curling into himself.

Aziraphale laughed with him for a bit, then that faded into a quizzical look that only set him off harder. 

“My dear, are you quite all right?” the angel asked as he was finally winding down and wiping his eyes. 

He very carefully did not look at his angel--the last three times that blue sincerity had been enough to set him off again, and he thought it had finally exhausted itself but didn’t want to risk it. Overtired, he thought, but also it was still funny, no matter how much his sides ached. 

“‘M’okay, angel,” he said, one arm around his ribs. “I just… I never realized.”

“Realized what? I could use a good joke, you know,” Aziraphale said, and it was only slightly scolding. 

“You… you see the afterglow. You see _literal_ afterglows. I… What must it be like to live in Soho if you can see literal afterglows?”

“I _told_ you--how many times do I have to tell you?--I can feel love!”

“But do you get that from everyone? Love is a physical force, and oh, look at her, she’s moving in a pink cloud, she must be well-shagged!”

“It’s not like that!” Aziraphale shrilled, and then visibly calmed. “I do not see literal afterglows on everyone, my dear. I am not the least bit interested in knowing who is ‘well-shagged’, as you put it.” He sighed. “I see love around you, because I love you. I see love from you. And it manifests, yes, _sometimes,_ as a literal afterglow.”

Crowley gingerly started stretching himself out on the bed. “Can’t believe I’ve been walking around in a pink cloud, to you.”

“Occasionally it’s not pink. You look at the Bentley and you get sort of a reddish-yellowish around you.”

“I turn _orange?”_

“Did I say orange?” Aziraphale sighed, glanced at the darkening window, and stretched out beside him. “I said reddish-yellowish. It’s not really orange, but it’s definitely not pink.”

“Reddish Yellowish is orange, though. Basic color theory.”

“What did you see, when you looked in the mirror?”

“Pink. Lots of pink. And a bit of a blue there as well.”

“But not purple.” 

There was more stretching, and some shifting, until they were curled together. Crowley arched into being the little spoon. “No, not purple.”

They fell silent for a few minutes, holding each other. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t go how you’d imagined it,” Aziraphale said at length. “I just didn’t think--”

“It’s fine. It’s good,” Crowley interrupted. “Ten out of ten, would …whatever that was... again. Gold star.”

A hand came up around him, found his hand and held it against the beat of his humanish heart. “I don’t think I understood most of that.”

“It’s good, angel. I’m satisfied. I might still try the other someday, but right now I’m knackered and happy.”

The arm around him squeezed reassuringly. “Oh, good. I am glad. It wasn’t quite what I’d planned at all.”

He chuckled. “All the talk about acceptable safety standards pretty much went out the door, too.”

“I’m so very sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

A yawn crept up on him, and he surrendered to it, his jaw cracking under the stretch. “Might sleep for a bit. Join me?”

“You know I don’t sleep.”

“Don’t need to sleep. Just… be here.”

“Of course, love.” His hair ruffled with warm breath as a kiss was dropped onto the back of his head. “As long as you need.”

He drifted for a while, his tired body held with all the grace he could ask. He would have been happy with this, if it had never gotten farther, he thought. But he couldn’t be sorry he’d asked, either. That had been… well he didn’t have the words for what that had been, really. He suspected none of the languages still open to him had words for what that had been, either. 

He wondered if the words existed in any of the languages that were locked to him, either. 

“Angel,” he murmured at length, when he surfaced for a few minutes. 

“Yes?” came Aziraphale’s patient voice behind him.

“Am I still pink?”

Aziraphale laughed. “You’re the color of a very tired demon, my dear. All reds and blacks as usual. Go back to sleep.”

“No pink?”

“If I tell you you’re pink, what does that mean, then?”

“Means you loooove me,” he said, snuggling back into angelic warmth. 

“Then you’ll be pink til the end of time.”

He could feel his lips trying to smile even as he floated back to sleep.

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are loved, Comments are cherished even if I sometimes don't manage a timely reply (or any at all)--I promise I read and love every one!


End file.
